


Drabbles II

by Nath



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nath/pseuds/Nath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing collection of my drabbles on various Middle-earth topics</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkening

2630 Third Age – Dale

It was the first time after the formation of the White Council that Elrond travelled east of the Misty Mountains. First he had gone to Lothlórien, to escort Arwen, and to talk about how they might keep the passes open and safe, and about the darkening tide of the world – not _quite_ a meeting of the White Council without Círdan or the Istari there. Still, it had been a useful visit, and it was good to be away from Imladris for a while – he had forgotten how nice it could be to travel at his own pace, without set goals.

It was only sensible to continue eastwards and see for himself the threat of Dol Guldur's tower, to travel the Forest Road and see what Dwarves and Men were building beyond Mirkwood's gloomy darkness. Of course, after visiting Dale's lord, he could not return without visiting Thranduil's realm; not that Oropher's son would be pleased to see him, but courtesy required the visit be made. Undoubtedly, Thranduil still held the Noldor accountable for his father's doomed charge during the Last Alliance. The effort had to be made, though; they could not afford estrangement among the Elves in these darkening days.

For now though, Elrond was happy to wander the streets of Dale and its market – the fabled toys of Dale were indeed marvels of craftsmanship, the town itself was pleasant, its people extending their welcome to all travellers. Most of those he saw were Men of Rhovanion and of course Dwarves, but there were more than a few Elves in the crowd, as well as Men who looked as if they came from far away in the East of Middle-earth – as well as one or two who were so obviously of Dúnedain blood that they _had_ to be from Gondor.

***

2771 Third Age – Rivendell

"A dragon?"

The messenger nodded. "I saw him myself. I had gone to Dale to trade with the Dwarves, and I barely escaped. Dale is gone, as is the Kingdom under the Mountain, and all the land is a smoking waste."

\- -

"I am troubled," Elrond said to Glorfindel later that day. "Even if the Enemy is not directly involved, it is convenient for him to have this hold on Wilderland."

"But will the dragon heed Sauron?" Glorfindel asked.

"Even if he acts only on his own behalf, the damage Smaug can do plays into his hand," Elrond said.


	2. Melt

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The ice at the entrance to the cave he sheltered in was melting.

Normally, that would have been a sign of winter's ending, and of warmth and colour returning. Now, with his leg still healing, it had only signified that he should drag himself above the cave's floodwater level or drown in the icy runoff.

Somehow, he had made it, but his wound had reopened, negating previous effort at stitching it up. _Slowly. Don't faint. Just… slowly…_

_***_

Voices outside.

He grabbed his knife, prepared to defend himself.

A dark-haired head peeked in.

"Happy Birthday, Estel!"

_Elrohir…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for a birthday


	3. Pets

"Can you keep those pets of yours out of the stables?" Faramir asked his brother. "They upset the horses, and hunt the cats."

"What of it? Warhorses should be better-trained, and my dogs are hunting dogs, not pets. That's what they do."

"So will your… pets… keep vermin out of the stables?" Faramir asked pointedly.

"Don't be ridiculous! They are for hunting boars and deer, not _mice…_ and I **said** they're not pets."

"I heard you," Faramir said. "Then stop treating them as if they are, and try not to have them chase Father's favourite mouser up a tree either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for a birthday


	4. Prelude

“How old is your daughter now?” Arathorn asked Dírhael as he stuck out his hand to ruffle the little girl’s hair, and she quickly stepped back, clinging to her father’s legs.

“I’m nearly six,” the child declared suddenly. “And don’t mess up my hair!”

“Gilraen!” her father said sternly. “Mind your manners.”

“I get tangles! I hate it when people touch my hair!”

“Gilraen! Enough. Now go and tell your mother we have visitors.”

Dírhael shook his head as Gilraen went off. “She can be a sweet child, but sometimes she has her mother’s temper.”

“And your stubbornness,” Arathorn laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for a Challenge - this scenelet also serves as a sneak preview for an as yet unwritten chapter of _An Excess of Weather_.


	5. Packing

Did she have everything? she wondered. Packing for the journey itself should be easy, or would have been if it had been just herself and a small escort – except that this time it wasn't a spare pair of riding breeches, a bedroll and weapons; they were travelling in state, with about half of Rivendell along, and bringing pavilions, trunks, furniture, …

Arwen stopped her pacing and, though she knew she had packed everything, she went through her clothes chest yet again. Two months of travel. How she wished she could ask the Eagles to carry her to Minas Tirith _now…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for a birthday.


	6. Fell winter

The winter doesn't affect the deep forest as badly as the dwellings of the Woodsmen. There, despite discreet gifts of food left near villages, hunger and cold take a harsh toll. Thranduil shakes his head and grimaces as he swirls the last drops of wine in his glass. Things are not _all_ bad. Elves don't feel the cold so much, and they can forage and hunt. The few spiders that come near Elven settlements are sluggish from the cold, and easily killed or driven off.  But _why_ is the only wine to make it to Laketown's market this vinegary misery?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for the March 2013 Nuzgûl of the Month Challenge at HASA.


	7. Once upon a time

“Inzil says you can’t have seen an Elf. There are no Elves, and even if there are, they’re not allowed on Yôzâyan.”

“Child, what makes you think Inzil knows anything?” A long-drawn out sigh. “But she is right the Elves no longer come here. Just don’t talk to her about them. You don’t want to upset your friend, do you?”

A short silence, before Aglahad ran past him, going outside to play.

Later, he spoke to his mother. “You shouldn’t tell the boy of Elves. Those days are gone.”

“All the more reason to tell him of them, I’d think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in Númenor and written for a birthday request: "stories that grandparents tell their children about 'the good old days.' "


	8. Naked

The waters leave him bodiless, naked in the Dark. For the briefest moment… a pull toward what he rejected many lifetimes ago; his answer now is as it was then. He rejects the call of Death.

Even were he so inclined, to heed that call would be desertion. Yet it whispers, even now, that Death would be _freedom_. Still, even if he would, he could not follow, for he is bound to his Lord, like his brethren.

He returns, and naked in the Dark, cringes before his Lord. He has, somehow, disappointed Him by even acknowledging, _hearing_ , that other call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a Challenge, themed: Death, Desertion, Disappointment


	9. Stay

"I hope your room was to your liking?" Barliman asked. He was not sure that he liked the high and mighty stranger; he certainly did not like the man's travel companions, who looked very much like the ruffians that had been seen hanging around Bree.

"Yes, thank you," the man replied, "You have been a most pleasant host."

Barliman smiled as he waved goodbye to his guests.

"Come again!" he called. _Such a pleasant man, I could listen to his voice for hours._

It was not until much later that he realised the strangers had left without settling their accounts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a birthday request. Barliman Butterbur finds a wizard's smooth tongue gets the better of him.


	10. Five things... Túrin

**Lalaith**

Húrin slowly opened the bedroom door. Normally Lalaith shared with her brother, but Morwen had set up a cot in their own room, to keep an eye on the child overnight. She had laughed off his fear that she too might catch the pestilence.

"Half of Dor-lómin has fallen ill; where would I go to be safe?"

She hadchased _him_ out, though, not to disturb him when she got up.

Morwen slept on the ground beside the cot. Húrin tried to back out again, but a squeak from the door woke her.

"How is she?"

"Her fever has broken."

~-~

**Morwen**

"She has come," Melian declared.

Túrin looked at her, and then at the entrance to the throne room.

"Not yet, child. It will be a day before she is here. Your sister is still very small, and they cannot travel very fast."

Túrin bit his lip. It had been months since he had seen his mother, and he missed her very much. He had never said so; he was a guest, and it was not polite to complain. Yet from queen Melian's look, he thought she knew, and from the wink she gave him, he knew she did not mind.

~-~

**Saeros**

_Three years of washing in ice-cold rivers. I need a bath, a_ hot _bath._ Túrin's stomach growled at the smell of food as he neared the hall. He hesitated, but walked on. As much as he wanted to eat, he wanted to be clean more.

Later, as he sat down with a full plate in front of him, enjoying the luxury of food he had not had to forage, kill, clean or cook himself, he was so at peace that he could even smile at that fool Saeros who sat opposite him. The Elf sneered in response, but said nothing.

~-~

**Beleg**

"Too close," Gwindor whispered.

"On, then." Beleg replied.

Beleg did not know how much time passed, but they must be miles away from the Orcs. They were also soaked from the rain lashing down and Túrin was starting to stir, so he halted under the doubtful shelter of a tree. With Gwindor standing guard, Beleg softly placed a hand on Túrin's shoulder to bring him further out of his stupor. It was clear that the Orcs had used him badly, for when he first opened his eyes he tried to pull away, but then lightning flashed and he recognised Beleg.

~-~

**Orodreth**

"Bring this answer to Círdan," Orodreth said to the messengers. "I will heed the warning of the Lord of Waters; the bridge will be cast down."

Túrin said nothing, for it was clear that he would not be able to sway Orodreth now the lord of Nargothrond had made up his mind. _Ever he chooses the cautious path, the easier path… the_ coward's _path. And yet… Nargothrond stands, and its people are safe, and his bolder brothers have long since fallen._ None of this caution was his way, but Túrin would abide by Orodreth's rule while he lived in Nargothrond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a Challenge: Happy Turin... either a moment somewhere in between all he suffers (and inflicts) in canon, or an AU in which his life is actually happy. Give the guy a break, make him smile!


	11. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the Nazgûl considers whether what he gained was worth the price.

Life. Warmth, vigour, colour taunt me as I am drawn ever deeper into the cold ghost world by my ring. All that I touch is grey, cold, listless. There is no joy in this world.

Living men fear me and shrink from me, lest my touch turn them into wraiths too. But they also obey me, and I have power in the world of the living.

And I have the consolation of the ring. It is precious to me, and I am beholden to it, and to its Master, will I or nill I.

Was I right to take it?


	12. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble of the Long Winter of 2758-59

Arathorn shivered despite his fur-lined cloak and inched closer to the campfire.  

"At least with all the passes closed, we'll be spared Orc raids from the Misty Mountains until the spring," Elrohir said.

"If spring ever comes," Arathorn muttered. "We're well past Yule and it's still cold enough to freeze the balls off a troll."

"Father says the weather may improve once the wind turns to the west," Elrohir said.

"And we'll be stuck with melting sludge for a month," Elladan observed.

Arathorn sighed. "We'll be lucky to get any crops planted before May. This will be a lean year."


	13. Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quadrabble. The beginning of a friendship.

Bilbo put down his pen with a sigh of frustration. He needed the genealogies of the First Age, but the book was on one of the higher shelves, out of reach unless he climbed one of the library's sets of steps or asked someone to give him a hand. None of the Elves working in the library were in sight though, and the steps were heavy.

_I should remember to keep it with the other books I use instead of clearing it away every time._

Likely preparations for welcoming the Lady Arwen home kept everybody occupied, and Bilbo himself looked forward to finally seeing the lady who had so enchanted the Dúnadan. He wondered whether Aragorn realised, but when his friend had told him about her some years ago, not just his eyes, but his whole face shone. _Quite a change in one who at times seems the dourest of men._ That made it all the more a pity that the Dúnadan wasn't here; he had gone off again in search of Gollum almost two months ago, only stopping by Rivendell to ask Bilbo to tell him yet again everything he remembered about the horrid creature.

After another look around to see if there was anyone he could ask for help with the steps, Bilbo got up to half-lift, half-drag the steps to where he wanted them.

He had only just started when an unfamiliar voice spoke and a long, slender hand reached to easily lift the steps off the ground. "Let me give you a hand. Where should it go?"

"Over there," Bilbo replied, "But I'm fine, honestly…" _Elves! They should have bells on, so they can't sneak up on an old hobbit!_

"Nonsense," the other interrupted him, cheerfully brushing over his objections. "Those steps aren't heavy. Now, where?"

"The First Age reference works," Bilbo gave in. He had caught a glimpse of the ring his 'assistant' wore and had more than a suspicion of who was helping him.

"Oh, what were you looking for?" she asked as she quickly climbed up the ladder, and Bilbo realised she couldn't have been back all that long, since she was still dressed in riding attire.

"The Genealogies," he replied.

A triumphant "Ah, there!" and she jumped down lightly, book in hand. "You must be Bilbo Baggins," she added.

"And you the Lady Arwen," Bilbo replied with a blush and a bow.


	14. Dragonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil. Movieverse.

_Dragonfire._ After the Dwarf was returned to his cell, Thranduil stared into his wine goblet. He had spoken harshly, perhaps unjustly. For all his flaws, Oakenshield _had_ seen what a dragon could do. Over-confidence, then, not ignorance. Yet was that better?

Involuntarily, his hand went to his cheek, his own over-confidence written there. To the eye the illusion was perfect, yet touch was not easily fooled, and he knew every ridge and valley of scar tissue.

_But it is not knowledge that holds me_ , he thought, _but fear; fear that my realm and its people will burn as Dale did._

**Author's Note:**

> Quadrabble, originally written for a birthday


End file.
